Tiny Little Fractures

Pre-flight scorpion

My boss gave me a scorpion. Well he didn’t as much as give it to me rather I asked for it. As P mentioned I probably made all brown people the world over proud and upped my weirdness factor at work by asking for the little critter. My boss had come across him nestled in his kid’s clothes, unfortunately when the clothes were already on the kid (he lives up in the mountains so this wasn’t as surprising a discovery as it seems, well unless you were the kid).

The boss wasn’t really fond of the scorpion, especially since it had nicked the kid a couple of times. Luckily it was only a baby so obviously didn’t have as much venom in its system so no long term damage had been done. This story of course made me aware that in addition to rattlesnakes, cougars and mentally retarded mule deer I had one more creature to keep a wary eye out for on my site visits (as if I needed another threat to my well being).

On inquiring, surprisingly without any raised eyebrows, as to what in tarnation I was going to do with the scorpion the boss was somewhat mollified by hearing that I was going to kill him and take some macro photographs. Now before the animal lovers get on my case, the boss was going to kill the scorpion already so I was just taking on the sin for him. Also I really, really wanted to take some good macro shots of the little bugger…and since it’s a scorpion…I wasn’t really going to do it while it was alive. You know with that sting and all.

So I spent the day with the scorpion perambulating eerily around its jar on a shelf in my office before I took it home. I scheduled the shoot for Sunday following my whale watching trip and let P know to grab me some Kenko extension tubes while I jury rigged a temporary lightbox. The scorpion appeared to have kicked the bucket as he lay motionless in his jar and staid like that for a couple of days.

Sunday dawned and just to make sure that the scorp as dead I poured some water into the jar. To my surprise he immediately arched his back and scrabbled his legs. But it was brief and then he was still, lying in his watery grave as I assumed. Note I know this sounds cruel but I didn’t really have a choice. Remember that weirdness index at the office I was talking about? Well one of the reasons I figure so highly on that is because every time a spider shows up in the office, while everybody is ready to splat it I’m usually to be found on my knees wasting valuable client billable time rescuing it and setting it free outside. So there, I kill with great reluctance!

P rolled over and we had a quiet smoke on the balcony and then experimented with the lightbox, minimum focusing distances, lighting and all that jazz that us aspiring photographers like to talk endlessly about. After a few shots of cigarette packs and miniature cologne/perfume bottles we decided to bring out the main show. Using a pair of tweezers I fished the scorpion out and placed him in the lightbox. P and I noted with some interest that it seemed to be a bit ‘twitchy.’

So there I was taking pictures of the ‘dead’ scorpion moving his little claws around when it suddenly dawned on us that maybe he wasn’t really dead. For one thing he was starting to look mighty alert and aggressive, which is something dead animals rarely do. Loathe to end our photo session I suggested P take over with the camera and I would empty the jar and bring it back just in case the scorpion got more active.

Of course as luck would have it as soon as I walked out of the room the scorpion decided to leg it, obviously emboldened by P’s lack of experience with creepy crawlys. All I could hear as I hurriedly threw out the water in the jar was P’s rather frantic, slightly high pitched entreaties for me to come back as he was ill-equipped both physically and mentally to handle a scorpion. I re-entered the room to find that the scorpion had disappeared behind the TV stand that we had set up our mini studio on. 

A conundrum if I ever came across one. Especially because this was a baby scorpion and the prospect of spending the next year growing old with a scorpion wandering around my room was not a prospect that I was looking forward to. The only thing worse that I could think of at that moment was the possibility of growing old with the last ex. Spurred on by this cheerful thought I bade P spare himself and I put myself in harms way. After all I was the older and more experienced of us two. The first thing that I noticed behind the TV stand apart from a plethora of wires was an old towel that had made its way behind there. Figuring the best thing to do would be to remove that I cautiously fished it out. This was when I made a rather startling discovery.

It appears that scorpions can fly. A fact that I was far from happy to discover as it suddenly the scorpion flew out from the towel, missed my leg by a whisker and landed on the carpet. Needless to say I was shocked. But being the inherent woodsman that I am I quickly recovered, grabbed the jar and trapped the scorpion. P and I had another smoke, this time a bit shakily after all the excitement and debated how to go ahead killing the scorpion. 

I had read that nail remover imbued cotton wool works on insects but I searched high and low and couldn’t find any. We decided to compromise with the miniature perfume bottles and poured them out on cotton balls and placed them in the jar. I’m not sure who suffered more from that exercise though, us or the scorpion. He didn’t seem to like the perfume that we provided much and as P was leaving he was still spiritedly attacking the cotton wool. When I checked on him last he appeared to be dead so now I just have to extricate my sinuses and then pull him out for the photoshoot…maybe sometime this coming weekend.

Of course now every time I’m out on a site not only do I have to be wary of rattlesnakes (which at least rattle) and panthers (which are fairly large)…now I have to look out for flying scorpions. How one protects oneself against that I know not…

There she blows again… 

It may have been a side effect of waking up so early on a Saturday morning that a decidedly odd version of that infamous Sixpence none the Richer was playing in my head. It’s been awfully long time since I’ve woken up late on a Saturday in my own bed…and in fact it looks like it’s going to be awhile until I get to in the near future. The fact that I was hauling my congested self out of bed at six in the morning to see the mightiest animal that has ever existed on the planet may have also had something to do with the bizarre lyrics.

Actually early mornings are starting to grow on me, especially those that I wake up sans hangover and with an exciting day to come. The throaty growl outside indicated N had turned up in his Z, about 15 minutes early which was very un Sri Lankan off him. We scarfed down some McDees breakfast while I gave my camera equipment a final look see. 

Body…check

4 gig card (would prove to be horrendously slow)…check

1 gig card (high speed)…check

1 gig card (high speed)…at P’s…I reckon I should start renting him rental for that.

2 gig card (high speed)…forget…dammit

zip lock bag jury rig (necessary to keep spray off my lovely L lens)…check

batteries (useless performance for some reason)…check

And it was off to Santa Barbara to meet S, J and this chap whose name escapes me but who I’ve pegged in my head as the seasick chap (now I don’t have to explain that do I?). The Condor Express which was to take us out into the Channel and traverse Santa Cruz island was an impressive sight in the early morning light. I yawned, chewed on 10 altoids to keep my sore throat at bay and climbed on board. We all, being the chandyias that we are decided to go to the bow and stand in the full might of the wind as the Express tried to prove exactly how high speed it was.

It was exhilarating, if a bit chilly. The boat bounced through some moderate chop and the back kicking spray somehow miraculously missed us and drenched a rather surprised girl next to us to the bone. Laughing at her (discreetly) and sympathising with the seasick chap, who almost immediately felt dizzy and had to sit down, N and I enjoyed clearing our lungs and lowering our core body temperatures. After awhile we were both a bit cold and bored, but neither of course wanted to admit this to the other. So we stood and froze until finally the captain yelled out “there she blows.” 

Now if I was a blue whale and I heard that yelled out, I would most probably lift my skirts around my ankles and skoot (or whatever whales do) and with good cause because for the last couple of decades that cry was usually followed by a booming sound and a curious burning itch followed I’m going to guess by incomprehensible pain as the harpoon grenade explodes. It is somewhat scary that we puny humans almost managed to wipe out the largest living creature that has ever lived in the course of a few score years, from around 300,000 prewhaling to less than 5,000 now.

The first whale we saw was a pretty young though and thankfully must not have experienced the niceties of the whaling industry. The experience of watching a whale is almost like that of elephants in Yala. The whale breathes on the surface for awhile, entertaining us with its spouts and then with a graceful arch of its back and a goodbye wave of its tailfins goes down deep. We would then wait out the whale until he surfaces anywhere from a few 100 feet to half a mile yonder. The sort of like the safari jeeps in Yala the boat is gunned to where the whale is languishing and the cycle is repeated….well…maybe in hindsight it not very similar to watching elephants in Yala. 

The trip was a fascinating way to spend four hours, a bunch of Dall’s porpoises came by to check the boat out and left without posing for my camera and then we did a perambulation around the island of Santa Cruz. I’m not sure if anybody out there is as geeky as me, but I was quietly excited to see this island close up because of a book I loved as kid, the Island of the Blue Dolphins in which the main character was marooned on one of the Channel Islands. The book was actually based on a true story and looking at that island I could only think that being marooned on such a god forsaken place would suck…there was not a single tree to be seen. I personally like palm trees to be present if I get marooned on an island.

The trip back to shore was dramatic to say the least. We were initially joined by what seemed like a couple of hundred dolphins which took a break from lunching on some bait fish to come leaping over to play with the boat. I’ve decided to petition whoever is in charge of reincarnations that once I die, I want to be reborn as a dolphin. Seriously it just looks like they have so much fun. The speed at which they flew through and out of the water was breathtaking and with such little body movement. N and I couldn’t keep our cameras straight and I almost beamed a little kid in the head taking what seemed like a couple of hundred pictures of the dolphins. 

As if that wasn’t enough excitement there turned up not one, not two but three blue whales. And these guys were not juveniles. That was one of the few times that I have felt true awe in my life. The majesty was just unexplainable, all we could see was the grey backs as they came up to breath but the sheer size was inescapable. There were two males fighting over a female, the female leading and the males following (thus proving that even with a brain the size of a small car, common sense does not prevail). All three gave us a fascinating show with their habit of arching their backs excessively during their preliminary breaths and then on their penultimate breath heading down with a languorous wave of their huge flippers. It truly was a sight I felt privileged to see and that’s no hyperbole.

As we saw the last tail fin whip out of the water and the boat started heading back to shore I looked behind. Seasick chap had his head between his knees and seemed to have missed everything. Poor guy…and that silly song was still in my head.

A philosophical hobbit, but I’m just better looking…much better looking (from here)

Well dogfight detagged me, but RD, indyana and Pissu tagged me (I think that was it). So umm…here goes. Of course seven facts barely make up the convoluted individual that I am, so feel free to judge or even condemn.

1. I appear to have this knack of making people laugh, mostly girls. Don’t ask me why but I’m not blowing my own horn here (that would be one-handed as opposed to two handed) but its something I constantly get told. It’s also strange because my humour is, well, fairly offensive. I reckon its because I tend to talk more to random girls than guys (though after our last session at Bob’s diner R may digress with me on this fact). I do love those moments though when something happens and the perfect comment comes out of my mouth and the results have everybody rolling around on the floor, even the subject of the joke.
2. I detest people who think that their worldviews are somehow better than mine. Now don’t get me wrong, if I have a notion that is wrong and someone points this out to me and provides me with supporting evidence I have no problem admitting my mistake. Hey every day’s a learning experience isn’t it? Let me provide an example to make it easier, if someone doesn’t believe in pre-marital sex that’s fine, I respect that. I believe in it and attempt to engage in it at every opportunity presented (which to be honest is not saying much). If someone however thinks that they are superior to me just because they don’t engage in it then that’s a load of bollocks. Personal belief vs. arrogance. 
3. Everyday I wonder what I missed out in life by not having a father, seeing my mother a handful of times in nine years and my sister once in the same time period. I might be a different person now and I just wish I knew how I would have been different.
4. I’m a pretty calm person, I rarely panic or get angry (I bitch and get loud, but not angry). I’ve fallen into rapids and kept my nerve, I’ve had a car crash at 80mph and kept my nerve, last night there was a 4.5 Richter earthquake here. I made sure my Lanting print didn’t fall off the wall onto my head and then went back to sleep. If you do piss me off though don’t be surprised if I try and stomp on your head until it splits or crack you over the head with the nearest bottle (two things incidently, that I have done).
5. I love to read and (this is rather eerily similar to Pissu) I have a love for South Asian authors, especially Romesh Gunasekera who’s Reef is probably my all time favourite book. I’m not sure what it is but there is something hauntingly familiar in a good South Asian’s writing. It’s sometimes difficult to see that we have meaning in our lives and reading stories like Reef lets us to look into ourselves in way I guess. That said I also love Tolkien, maybe I’m just a philosophical hobbit in denial. 
6. I’m still trying to figure out whether I’m doing the right thing by not moving to Sri Lanka right now. I know what my dream is but either I’m scared of following it or I’m slowly working my way to it. I’m not really sure, I guess time will tell.
7. I’m an island boy at heart. There’s nothing more enjoyable to me than sitting by a warm tropical Indian ocean with a cold Reserve and coke in one hand, Bounty scratching his bald head and sweating copiously, R adjusting himself and pouring huge drinks, CP mumbling unclearly, Evil being Evil and R akki saying something silly to entertain me. Also a nice, slim, dark, brown baduwa would be nice to put line to as well. Oh yeah and a spectacular sunset. And a camera, to take lovely candids of the aforementioned brown girl. That would be nice. 

So yeah that’s seven random, somewhat deep, somewhat irreverent things about me. I didn’t dwell on my flaws because…well…if you read this blog then you know them already.

Hmm…there’s really noone left to tag is there? Well lets see, Darwin, Evil, Spectral, Cerno, drac (hehe…I couldn’t resist), Manshark and Nirmal.

Unfortunately that’s a real life formula in the title. And no don’t look in any algebra textbooks, it’s a scenario equation. To all of those scratching their heads in confusion let me elaborate. Chinky Pinky joined me for the weekend after a long hiatus, ostensibly to help me scope out some brown badu at the Aluth Avurrudu festival at Woodley Park. Well that’s what I wanted to do at least, I think she was just more interested in drinking at some point of the weekend. 

There were a few possibles around but there was a high probability of them being underage. And as much as I like a handbag to the head from some irate Aunty I decided to keep my distance. The relative lack of hotness was however disappointing, nothing on the scale of back home…oh well what to do. Anyways CP and I were meeting A, her friend from RI who brought along G his friend from out East. Being incestuously Sri Lankan it turned out they were going to meet a ‘friend’ of mine who we shall refer to from now on as Wanker as G knew him, and boy were they happy about having to go. I personally was more inclined to hang out at Woodley, smile uncertainly at aunties and uncles I might know, try and track down some arrack and laugh at N. Unfortunately N was being taken to be groomed by his female retainer and we decided to put A and G out their misery by accompanying them to Venice Beach accumulating Wanker along the way. 

Now I may, truth be told, not the nicest person on the planet, but I do try and be a ‘good’ person. There is many an occasion where I fall short but I reckon I must be doing a decent job on the evidence of the friends I have. R, Bounty, CP, Evil, N, FG, Monkey Boy, etc., one must be doing a fairly good job as a human being to have friends like these. That’s why I cannot for the life of me understand why Wanker doesn’t see the error of his ways. I mean how does one go through life for 23 years and have no friends? Surely he should be able to see that he has issues and that anyone who gives him the time of day does so, well, out of sympathy for the most part.

Let me give you a bit of background on Wanker, he grew up with me and R living in the near vicinity. Back in the day we used to beat on him endlessly but here’s the thing, not one punch was undeserved. I’m sorry but if you chuck a rock at me out of the blue at my head and draw blood you will get hit. Similarly if you say unmentionable things about my mother, you will get hit, if you throw my slippers on the roof forcing me to walk home on hot tarmac, you will get punched. We actually felt sorry for him when we hit him but explaining how to be a decent human being never worked leaving us with no other option. He also had the one redeeming feature of having an awesome garden to play cricket and night cricket in. After he moved we thankfully didn’t see him for quite awhile. 

This year he found me on facebook and invited me to his place. After almost a decade I was expecting improvement. After all I know on several people’s testimony’s that I have, N has and so have a lot of other people relative to who we were back in the day. And I firmly believe in second, third and fourth chances. Sadly it wasn’t to be, he was still annoying only a bit bigger this time. Last weekend however took the cake, not only was he annoying, whiney and obnoxious but he was downright rude.

Wanker took a liking to CP which all of us without exception found hilarious. But what really pissed me off was his behaviour after that. After a night clubbing CP, G and I were on the couch. The former was in the middle with her legs up on me talking to G while I zoned out. After about five minutes I realized Wanker was sitting on the couch next to us giving me what can only be described as a bitter look, before giving the same look to CP and then G and then whispering something to his friend who was sitting next to him. That really, really pissed me off because it was just so rude and not done. Anybody with any social skills should be able to handle non-attainable attraction in a mature way and not behave like a hormonal teen. What I really wanted to do at that stage was to give him a thundering kanne pare that would have echoed across the Western Hemisphere. But I just let it go. If five years of people beating on him hasn’t made him realize that there is something fundamentally wrong in his behaviour towards others then nothing will.

Once a wanker always a wanker I guess, at least for this particular wanker. Some people should just be kept in the past.

Getting paid for my photographs in food seems to be becoming a trend. S wanted some headshots done since the one’s she has are only good for the New York scene. Actually next time somebody asks me to do a shoot I really need to figure out before hand what exactly they need, I only found out what headshots are around a few hours before the shoot. Admittedly I had been busy with interviews, accepting job offers and losing my mind over the prospect of not seeing Sri Lanka for so long, but I still should have taken the time to learn more about what taking good headshots necessitates.

I hope she got some usable shots, I certainly got a few I liked, but then I’m not the client. I got Jamaican jerk chicken and a humongous ice cream, cookie sandwich for my efforts. Needless to say I spent most of the night up with heartburn that would have woken a mummy up. Add that to an early morning wake and jaunt on the freeway to check out our boys kicking some Windian arse and I’m pretty knackered. The next job I have lined up is the sibling’s graduation, hopefully try and get a flash before that, since that seems an essential for good portrait work.

My assertion that we have matured may have been just a tad premature in light of this weekend, well week actually. A quiet drink on Wednesday snowballed into an interesting night at Tabu on Wednesday, involving far, far too much Old Reserve and Asti. Some friendship barriers were crossed, mostly due to me pushing buttons but thankfully no permanent damage was done. Just some additional therapy hours for some of us, which for some are long overdue.

The early morning shenanigans ended it was babies for breakfast, Chinese for lunch and some silence, arguments and confessions for tea. A misled flight plan meant I was solo for the night at Onyx, well solo in that none of the girls with us really tickled my nizzle so to speak, despite most being lookers. I think I need more than my fair share of therapy. The night was still pretty good, pickled my liver with white rum and toasted my lungs with Benson and then filled my belly at Holiday Inn.
 

This was all a warm up for Saturday though; the agenda was a chilled sunset and drink at Buba. Unfortunately due to my inability to comprehend text messages whilst half asleep and a resultant mix up in directions we ended up at Buba once the sun had decidedly set. Two bottles of white rum and six hours later in the idyll of Buba at night the mother of all club hops was conceived, Buba to Mambos.

In short, two hours, the highest recorded speed in the Fairlady, offers to lick Evil’s starfish and countless shit scared dogs later we were at Mambos, drinking, dancing and trying to spot some ladies. I as usual was bollockingly crap, my radar was somewhere over the Atlantic at that point I think, not much use when I’m standing by the Indian Ocean. I did however have my wingman moment with quite a smooth cigarette lighting hand-off to Y. Too bad he didn’t get anywhere with the Middle-Eastern bird, but at least he tried.

The drinking was followed by Y and I stuck at an officially ‘closed’ Rotti Stop where if not for the kindness of a stranger, and our ability to squeeze something out of nothing the lack of three rotis and a cup of tea would have resulted in our sure death from starvation. Bounty and Evil turned up from a detour in the World Heritage City to drop off some partiers and pick us up a largesse that even the six of us in our famished state could not finish. Satiated and worried by D’s attempts to put line to Chuti the Rotti Stop wench we decided to call it a day and….well try and figure out to do for the day. Debating on whether to sleep in the cars or try and figure out hotel rooms was enlivened by what looked like a Doberman the size of a Shetland pony charging out of Rotti Stop. I quietly sought refuge in the Fairlady leaving the rest to their fates before it was established the gargantuan dog was actually Great Dane going for his morning ablutions on the beach.

A bus thunders by in the early morning 

It was finally decided that Evil and D were good to drive (though the latter assertion was highly questionable) and Evil with me as co-pilot headed off with Bounty and Y in the back. D and P headed off in the Fairlady (now doesn’t that sounds like an interesting pun) and we all headed off in the early morning light back to Colombo. My job was to keep Evil up, which I tried by roundly abusing him at every opportunity provided. Unfortunately I just didn’t have enough material to keep me going, ended up falling asleep and then waking to what appeared to be an Intercity bus driver trying to park in my lap and with a feminine yelp of fear all sleepiness vanished. Evil simply smiled his evil smile, content with his achievement, swung back into his lane and continued on his way.

I then proceeded to keep myself entertained by continuing to abuse Evil and taking pictures of oncoming traffic. Most of the moments were pretty tame compared to S driving back from Hikka last weekend, but there was one moment that not only did I have momentary heart failure and coughed up a kidney but my camera was frightened out of its wits.

My camera has an apoplectic fit

That’s the only explanation I can make for the picture below, which I took as the bus passed us by a whisker yet looks like something out of my old college shroom-induced hallucinations.  Colombo was reached with minimal drama afterwards, Y and Bounty slept like babies the whole way, DP ran out of petrol but still managed to get home and Sunday was spent in bed that has never been as inviting as that.

Being a sucker for punishment I was out with the Akkis last night, well my excuse is that I don’t get to see them very often and at their decrepit age its most likely the next time I come down one or both will be married and boring and that will be a great lost to humanity. The fourth night ended with off-tune singing, wandering down memory lane, a female Indian fist in my mouth and a slapping of said female Indian’s arse, all in much required self defense of course.

And my decision not to wear a watch. After spending oodles of money, flying thousands of miles risking the chicken fever and a dodgy stomach for the first time I missed out on prematurely popping a champagne cork a few seconds to midnight. Instead I was emptying out my bladder for what seemed to be the hundredth time of the night even though it was still relatively early when the roar of fireworks alerted me to the fact that I had overlooked a minor detail of 31^st night. I returned to some right royal abuse from the boys, but at least I had a glass of Champagne in one hand and Vodka/Red Bull in the other, a combination sure to make anyone happy.

All in all Galle Face was quite fun, admittedly the location was nowhere near as good as last years and we didn’t have a nice big tent with sofas to ourselves either, nor, thanks to my slight oversight, any Patron. It was what can only be described as a ‘sociable’ 31^st night, no over the top rocking, just 5 minutes on a chair for old times sake, no random chat ups (despite what appeared to be the largest conglomeration of tight, mini-skirted, brown hotties on the planet) or excessive drinking. Evil wasn’t around for me to chuck an empty bottle at, which I’m sure he really missed, I know I did. I did however meet a bunch of old acquaintances, caught up and had a generally good time. There was a slight bit of weirdness towards the wee hours of the morning, but a couple of days and a good session of antibiotics should clear that up.

Cricket captain, in town to meet the in-laws was highly taken up by the whole Colombo 31^st night scene, didn’t know where to look in terms of cuties and made us solemnly, if a bit drunkenly swear an oath to come back next December as well. He did however look shit the next day, he’s excused though since he has got a few years on us and not had the opportunity to be hardened by the party lifestyle in Colombo. Also met an ‘ex-blogger’ who’s dearly departed blog was one of my favourites, and not just for the excellent music recommendations that were on it but a writing style I could only be envious off. Well actually it was the second time I met her, but the first time was a bit blurry and loud and a haze. Its always strange putting faces to online personas, and this one was no exception. She turned out to be younger and shorter than I ‘pictured,’ in fact she claimed to be five feet tall, but unless I’ve grown around three inches since 10pm on the last day of 2006 there was no way that was true more in the region of four foot ten or thereabouts. She also had a rather irrational hatred towards Coldplay, but I guess you can’t expect people to have perfect taste in music.

Breakfast at Intercon, attended by R (who managed to last all night for once), CP and Cricket Captain and some early doors comedy from one of the strangest morning persons I have ever met, rounded up a ‘satisfying’ night and an excellent way to bid adieu to 2006, a year of dizzying highs and marrow chilling lows, a year I was glad to turn my back on.

I hope everyone out there had a fun, safe New Year and has a lot to look forward to in 2007!

So Chinky Pinky sent me this email, which though not exactly original rings very true:

Ticket to Sri Lanka $1435
Changing the ticket coz the travel agent was stupid $86
Phone bill for bitching about changing the ticket $40
Spending New Year’s Eve in Sri Lanka - PRICELESS! 

Of course the heartache I had to go through for that end objective was a bit more than detailed above as was the amount I spent on my ticket, but the benefit to my mental health should be disproportionately larger. On that note is there anyone around for some quiet drinks, discuss blogging, photography, life in general? If so hit me up, childof25@gmail.com…

On the note of making connections does anybody know this chap Viraj Senewiratne featured in the Sunday Times this week? Ok ok I know it’s a bit dodgy trying to get hold of a 30 year old Thomian, in fact both Chinky Pinky and R on being asked this question snorted and mentioned that six months in San Francisco was probably six months too long. Fear not though I don’t have any nefarious intentions on this fine young gentleman I was just taken with the possibility that there might be some environmental entrepreneurs in sunny Sri Lanka and think that connecting with such people can only be a good thing. So if anyone does know him…please do let me know.

P.S. Was that request weird and stalkerly? I really hope not.

You would think almost getting run over twice on two consecutive mornings would not be conducive to a good mood, but rather surprisingly I find it is. Perhaps it’s the thrill of cheating death in the mornings when I can usually barely get my jeans on without falling down a couple of times and generally pour juice into my cereal instead of milk. I am hoping though that this trend of missing the front end of fenders by inches will not continue, after all luck has to run out sometime.

On the bright side of life I discovered two new bands on my iPod, something that happens with pleasing regularity. I have close to 9,000 songs on there, downloaded from a spectrum of people from British hipsters, Sri Lankan yuppies and San Franciscan liberals. Every now and then it throws out a couple of random gems and today two outstanding songs popped up, Summertime by the Sundays and Turn by Feeder, two British ‘indie’ (if that term really applies anymore in the real world) rock groups.  I would recommend both groups for some chilled out, sometimes upbeat sometimes shoe-gazer tunes.

This week has also been one of the most sozzled weeks since I left college and I’m sure I’ve burnt up what few brain cells I had left. PKS left on Sunday (sadly I don’t have anybody to laugh at with regularity anymore) back to NZ and R has either been trying to celebrate his new found freedom or drown his sorrows (probably the latter) and dragged me along with him. It’s been a steady stream of rum and cokes and vodka/redbulls since Tuesday. One of the more notable nights was Friday at Voda, a brilliant place where there’s no cover charge, drinks are around $5 each and on top of that it looks a bit like Glo. Five shots of vodka, a couple of them free meant that even though I managed to get a number I for the life of me cannot remember who the girl was. All I can recall is that she was Asian and from Fullerton which in retrospect does me no good as that’s around 500 miles south of here. I do quite like Voda though, especially as a start out point to the night.

I’m currently thanking whoever pulls the cosmic strings for making tomorrow a holiday during which I plan to resolutely steer clear of anything with an alcohol content, try and sweat some toxins out in the gym, lose at poker and watch Himalaya, i.e. be somewhat productive. I also intend to spend a good portion of the day putting my thinking cap on and come up with ideas to make a quick $4,000 (preferably something that doesn’t require me to give up a body part) so R and I can hit up SL in December for a couple of weeks, just to try and maintain some sanity. Why did I leave corporate America and a fat paycheck again?

I’ve still got that bloody awful song in my head from too many times at Clancy’s, you know the one, that god awful piece of shite from Global Deejays that masquerades as techno in Sri Lanka. Well actually going to San Francisco aint so much of a cakewalk, considering the last time I went up, I only made it 80% of the way before my car took a flying leap off the freeway into a field (see ode to my RSX).

Well last night I exorcised my ghosts and drove up to Frisco. This time I had my sister as company, still only drove 80% of the way again, don’t worry I didn’t try any aerobatics off the freeway, my sis just drove the rest of the way. Got into the city in positively monsoonal rain, spent almost an hour getting over the Bay Bridge and got dropped off at my best mate’s house. Getting out of the car I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, no fiery crash, no EMT’s, no cops , just a bottle of reserve and some catching up to look forward to. Well three quarters of a bottle, a summary of the last two months of drama and some hilarious texts to various countries later went to sleep very contented.

Tonight should be more reserve, redbull vodka, Zebra Lounge and um hopefully some skanky San Fanciscan girls! Hopefully take my mind off my current state of being in debt, unemployed and hung up over a certain girl in Sri Lanka. Just not looking forward to that post hangover 6 hour drive back to LA! Note to self: STAY AWAKE!!

I’m not sure when I lost my good habit of drinking a gallon of water before going to bed drunk, but I’m sure starting to regret giving it up. So I repeated the Friday night routine last night, I’ve had two hours of sleep, sat in a hotel room watching VH1 until 4 and then off all things went for a Buddhist talk. Not surprisingly my head feels like it’s attached to rest of my body by a strand of skin. Not withstanding the ill effects, this weekend though was absolutely bloody amazing, barring the talk from a monk who looked and sounded like a JHU reject (the things I do to please my family).

So back to the weekend, Friday night was a pretty unique night in my books. Usually when we go out in Colombo we have a fairly large crowd, but on Friday it was just me and one of my best friends, sitting at a bar and drinking. The night had started off on a bit of a sour note for me, my tardiness and picking up the phone and making a call resulted in me missing out on an opportunity for dinner with the girl i’m trying to get with. Oh well, win some, lose some I guess. But the night did turn out much better than I thought due to some very interesting company.

Saturday however was a different story, our crowd seemed to fill half the club, everybody was buzzed, I was wired on vodka/red bull and patron tequila and the ladies looked good (I think this was due to the alcohol though). Spent the entire night bouncing off the ceilings, dancing on the sofas and just generally having a good time, the night was almost reminiscent of one during the season. As usual the only drawback was the one member of the female species I wanted in attendance was unable to make it, same old sob story I know. It was nice to be reminded how fun loving most of friends in SL are; we don’t go to get into fights, be cool or anything like that, just have unselfconscious fun. It is a bit sad to realize that its all coming to an end, and I have no idea when I’ll be back again.